The Olympians of Helling Stadium

To the victor go the spoils!

During a very short-lived career as a sixth-grade Olympian, I was totally flabbergasted while standing atop a three-tiered rostrum in the coveted center position with Robert “Mags” Magnifico – my counterpart from Hartman Elementary School – to receive a gold medal for the “shot put” as a crowd of miniature-sized onlookers gave a round of thunderous applause.

However, I was the biggest loser of that particular track and field event.

Say what?

Let’s rewind the tape to find out what really happened.

In an effort to promote a competitive spirit among the half-dozen elementary schools throughout the Ellwood City Area School District, the physical education department came up with the Sixth Grade Olympics as a way to celebrate individual achievement before the students moved on to the next phase of their shared educational experience.

At the end of every academic year, all the sixth graders, which were accompanied by their gym teachers as well as a host of parent volunteers, converged on Helling Stadium – home of the Fighting Wolverines high school football team – for a little friendly competition in the tradition of the ancient Greek Olympians.

This would-be athlete signed up for both the javelin throw and the shot-put.

Following a month of intense practice sessions during our bi-weekly gym classes, my classmates and I were chomping at the bit to challenge our worthy competitors for an opportunity to place in the illustrious medal ribbon ceremony.

The wait was finally over!

Due to the fact that my parents had a prior commitment the morning of the long-awaited tournament, Roger Baney – a faithful member of our church congregation – willingly picked me up from the Cape Cod-style house at the appointed time and drove me to Ewing Park in his green 1975 Ford F100 pick-up with attached truck bed enclosure.

Immediately after checking in with the registration desk, I joined my fellow peers in the metal bleachers on the home side of the football field to participate in the opening exercises for the half-day activity.

“Did you bring your swimming trunks,” asked Jeff Olinger as he made room for me to sit down. “Considering Veterans Memorial Swimming Pool officially opens today, we’re all going to head down there following the Sixth Grade Olympics; because we’ll need to cool off after this morning’s workout.”

“Unfortunately not,” responded this disappointed stripling prior to explaining the reason behind his inability to participate. “I can’t jump into the kid-friendly splash zone until after completing my beginner swimming lessons for the second time in my life; and they don’t start until tomorrow morning.”

We’ll undoubtedly see you down there once school’s out for the summer.

Once the proverbial starter pistol kicked off the highly anticipated festivities, it was off to the races as I skedaddled to the opposite side of the gridiron with a few of my usual cohorts for our selected events on the schedule of activities which took place simultaneously throughout the fenced-in stadium; whereupon I recognized a friendly face while waiting to practice the shot-put.

“You look vaguely familiar,” assessed this baffled whippersnapper while attempting to jog his memory. “If you give me an itsy-bitsy clue, I could probably blurt out your name as well as tell you exactly where we met; because I’m much better at remembering faces then names.”

The bathroom boys!

“Now I remember you,” I replied when recounting the incident that brought us together for the very first time. “You’re one-half of the two Robs – Rob Brough and Rob Magnifico – that my buddy Jeff and I met in the restroom at Lincoln High School auditorium; so, where’s your redheaded friend hiding?”

He’s getting ready for the 4 x 100-meter relay race with three of our classmates on the other side of the athletic field.

When it was my turn to do a practice run-through with the shot-put, I placed the eight-pound cast iron ball on the upturned palm of my hand with the thumb supporting the bottom while standing in the opposite direction of the marked course littered with measurement flags; after which I quickly pivoted on the left foot, thereby twisting my body before throwing it into the sandy soil.

Everyone’s jaw dropped – including my own – when the spherical object hit the forty-foot marker.

We know who’s going to win this game!

Although this perceived champion should’ve had the contest in the bag, he inadvertently stumbled over two left feet and dropped to his knees as the iron orb barely made it passed the five-foot marker during the hotly contested competition.

I was half tempted to bury my head in the sand.

“Don’t sweat it,” exclaimed Mags upon helping me back to my feet. “If you hadn’t accidentally tripped, you would’ve had a much better distance than me just like you did during the practice run-through; so, that medal actually belongs to both of us.”

Unbeknownst to me, the youngest son of the police chief convinced the gym teacher in charge to let me stand at the top spot of the three-tiered rostrum with him to accept a gold medal ribbon.

As soon as the “shot-put” awards were handed out, I witnessed the black-haired stripling giving his gold medal back to the presenters; so, they would have enough to hand out to the other top honor recipients.

To my newfound friend’s objections, I handed the gold medallion back to its rightful owner prior to heading out the side entrance of the football stadium following the awards ceremony.

While sauntering through the tree-lined streets in the Ewing Park neighborhood of the mid-size industrial city north of Pittsburgh on my way back to the north side, Robert “Robbie” Brough and his delightful mother pulled alongside the curb and graciously offered to take me the rest of the way home; and they refused to take no for an answer.

Little did I realize at the time that the big-hearted Italian – along with the congenial redhead – would eventually become two of my best friends while attending Lincoln Junior-Senior High School.